


Confessions Of A Drunk John Sheppard

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drunkenness, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now is not the time to blurt that they'd have beautiful kids together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions Of A Drunk John Sheppard

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a V-Day prompt in 2007, and so may not be consonant with later canon. 2blueaeryn wanted John/Teyla, with John explaining that he wants children.

“You’re good at this,” John murmurs into the side of Teyla’s head. Beneath his arm, she’s small and warm and steady. Beneath his nose, her hair is warm and woodsy fragrant with a touch of pine. “Had practise?”

“Putting drunk men to bed?” Teyla asks, and her voice has both affection and resignation in it as she hefts him around the waist. “Enough of it.”

John wishes she had a little more experience in putting him to bed. But that’s a dangerous thought for a man whose inhibitions have been lowered by alcoholic consumption.

The ceiling seems very distant. Maybe it’s the lamplight flickering on the...is that a cobweb? John grimaces. Okay, so it’s not Atlantis and there aren’t any subsonic wavelengths sent through the city to induce creepies and crawlies to go nest elsewhere.

He’ll have to slum it for a night.

Sleeping with this boots o--

Wait. Something’s happening down by his feet. He manages to lift his head enough to watch as Teyla tugs at his bootlaces. “Thanks.”

“It is the anniversary of your birth,” she says as she wrestles off his boots and wrinkles her nose at the smell of his socks. John shifts so the offending body part is further away from her, but it’s not that much distance and she scoots up the bed pretty fast. “You are entitled to a drink.”

“Or a dozen?”

SOP is to avoid alcohol consumption while off-world, particularly since the Pegasus version of ‘a standard drink’ is about double that of Earth.

Her hand steals out, brushes back his forelock, and John feels it like a caress and suddenly wishes he wasn’t drunk. Except that if he wasn’t drunk, he wouldn’t be lying here, and Teyla wouldn’t be sitting next to him, and she wouldn’t be touching him like this.

“Or a dozen,” Teyla says wryly as she stands up and turns away. “You will be okay in here?”

John grabs for her hand and misses, but the movement turns her back towards him so the candlelight outlines the lean curves of her body. “I don’t usually get drunk on my birthday, Teyla.”

“I did not imagine you did,” she said gently. “But I understand that this birthday is a landmark.”

“Forty,” he says, knowing Rodney spilled the beans. “I’m forty today. On Earth.” He manages to cut it off there before he explains about Gregorian calendars and the math that’s in his head and actually allows him to calculate the differential between planetary cycles.

Lorne thinks he’s a freak. He doesn’t say it, but sometimes the Major gives him looks.

John sighs. “I’m going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?” It’s been years since he’s allowed himself to get drunk. There’s a reason for that.

“Yes,” she says, and the candlelight limns her smile as she turns away. John turns to stare at the spider-infested ceiling.

“I wanted children,” he says as she reaches the door. “She didn’t.”

Teyla turns, and she’s not smiling any more. John’s not smiling, either. He’s remembering another woman, another life, another planet, another argument.

It was a different situation, of course. He was always away for work, and she didn’t want to bring up kids alone. He offered to take a job at one of the domestic bases, training pilots and she said she didn’t want to clip his wings; but really, she hadn’t wanted children.

By the time John fucked up in Afghanistan, his marriage was long over.

“I still want children,” he mumbles, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, that’s not an invitation or anything, but I’d like children.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s gone too far, said something he shouldn’t have said. Then, “You are still able to have children,” Teyla says. “Men are capable long after the childbearing capacity of women is gone.”

She’s trying to be nice, but she doesn’t understand, and John doesn’t think now is a good time to explain things like genetic risks, the age of the father having a bearing on the health of the child, and the fact that one part of him longs for a home and family of the white picket fence kind, while another part needs to be saving the galaxy - doing something meaningful on a big scale.

And now is definitely _not_ a good time to blurt out that they’d have beautiful kids together.

“Yeah,” John manages, “I guess. I’m not like this most of the time.”

“I know, John.”

“Forty’s a big landmark.”

Teyla’s smile is faint and sad. “Yes, it is.”

John suddenly remembers that a lot of her people don’t ever see age forty. “Oh.” His eyes try to find somewhere to look that isn’t her and end up on the cobweb hanging from the rafter. “You know, the next time I start complaining when I’m drunk, you should just tell me to be quiet.”

She’s come back across the room so she’s standing by the edge of the bed looking down on him with something that’s like a smile but isn’t quite. “Like you tell Rodney to be quiet?”

John feels very vulnerable; lying prone on the bed - maybe not physically vulnerable, although he is that, but with the sensation that Teyla’s seeing right through him. It’s not entirely comfortable. “Um... No?”

This time, her smile holds a hint of mischief. “When you are drunk, you are much like Rodney is sober.”

“Oh.” He winces. “God.”

Teyla’s mouth curves. “Yes.” Then she bends over and kisses him on the cheek. Her lips are smooth and cool, but the heat off her cheek burns John’s lips as she murmurs, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

The door closes behind her, leaving John, the lantern, and the cobweb to keep company.

 _Happy Birthday, John._


End file.
